


Here's to kind strangers

by Willia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willia/pseuds/Willia
Summary: Hawke wakes up badly hungover, with a bruised hand in a bandage, and an elf in his kitchen.





	Here's to kind strangers

_Too fuckin’ bright_. That was Hawke’s first thought upon waking up, quickly followed by, _is that a bandage around my hand_ , and then,  _why is there noise coming from my kitchen_?

He pushed the bedcovers aside and rose with a broken grunt. He shielded his eyes as best he could with the hand that was not carefully bandaged and vaguely throbbing with pain.

He stopped in his tracks when he reached the bedroom door. There was someone in his kitchen. Standing right in front of the sink, his back turned. Black wrinkled shirt too big for him, white hair, elven ears. His arms moved, and the tap closed. He turned around.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

That was a deep voice. That was a deep voice, and it did things to Hawke’s gut. The man was holding a glass of water, his expression blank.

“Uh, you– you...” said Hawke, smartly.

“Fenris.”

“Fenris!” Hawke clicked his fingers. “That’s right!”

The man – Fenris – took a sip of water, looking at Hawke with his eyebrows knit together.

“How much do you remember? About yesterday.”

Hawke lowered his hand to cover his face, taking advantage of the obscurity to think. He did remember things, though not everything. He remembered his arm around slender shoulders, he remembered blood, and cigarettes. And a little more alcohol than was entirely reasonable.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll take a shower while I try and remember, and then I’ll make pancakes and you can walk me through what I’m missing.”

A thin smile formed on Fenris’s lips. “Deal.”

* * *

 

The sky still bore the last lights of the setting sun when Fenris left his brand new flat. It had been a tiring day, carrying boxes up and down steep stairs, and he was rather looking forward to a quiet walk in the streets of his new city.

Kirkwall, however, had other plans.

Fenris managed to wander through Hightown and into Lowtown, before he was torn from his thoughts by loud arguing.

He looked up just in time to see a short man push another one –taller, bearded, and clearly drunk– out the door of what seemed to be a bar.

“C’mon, Corff, you know me!” he said, losing his footing and catching himself on the nearby wall.

“Go home, Hawke. Call your friends. I won’t let you use alcohol to cope with this shit.” He then closed the door behind him, leaving the taller man pouting in the street.

He kicked a rock with surprising accuracy, and then he seemed to notice Fenris. “Hey! You!” he shouted.

Fenris swore under his breath, pulling his jacket closer to him.

“Wait! Do you have a cigarette?”

After a second of consideration, Fenris turned back towards him, taking in his shaggy hair, dark jeans and tired eyes. He dug in his pocket as he walked, producing a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He handed a cigarette to the stranger, quickly glancing up at him. The man grabbed it, and stuck it in his mouth, all while looking at Fenris. He brought his hands up to protect the flame when Fenris lit it up, and he was sill staring when he inhaled the first puff.

“I’m Hawke.”

Fenris planted his hands in his pockets. He was tempted to light a cigarette for himself, but he didn’t want to imply he intended to stick around. “So I heard.”

Hawke winced. “Ah, yeah, you saw that.”

“I’m Fenris.” He didn’t move to shake his hand, but he figured it was only polite to give him his name. “Are you alright?” Fenris didn’t make a habit to play nurse for drunk strangers, but the bartender’s line about coping had worried him. He himself knew a thing or two about unhealthy coping, and he’d been on several occasions strongly tempted to lose himself in a bottle.

“You some kind of guardian angel?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Ah. Shame.” Hawke settled against the stone wall. “Seems like a waste of a perfectly good elf.”

Fenris laughed, then he coughed, his cheeks heating up despite himself. “Is that a pick-up line? Does it work?”

Hawke shrugged. “I don’t know, does it? I’ve never tried it before.”

“Grand debut then.”

“Unparalleled.” Hawke exhaled a puff of white smoke into the chilling air, and Fenris wondered why he’d stuck around so long. He was about to say his goodbyes and go on with his walk, when–

“Join me!” Hawke exclaimed, eyes bright, as he took another puff.

“Join you where?”

“Join me on my adventures,” he said, as though it had been obvious. “We shall wander the city and complete many-a quests, thus restoring balance to the streets of Kirkwall!”

Fenris stared at him, and then looked away quickly, incapable of deciding how serious he was. “I– I don’t–“

“Please,” Hawke said, grabbing his forearm, and Fenris looked up into sincerely desperate eyes. He knew that look. He’d seen it in mirrors, a few times, when days got particularly heavy and dark. When he’d done anything to have someone stick around to remind him that the world out there was living, breathing, thrumming with hope.

“I shall stay.”

Relief washed over Hawke’s features, quickly followed by an easy smile. He let go of Fenris’s arm, crushing his cigarette under his boot. “I shall be the Hero of Kirkwall, and you shall be my fiercest warrior.”

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “Hero?”

“No, no, Hero isn't right...” Hawke raked a hand through his hair mindlessly, before saying, “how about Champion?”

Fenris snorted, and the sound seemed to surprise and delight Hawke all at once. “The champion of Kirkwall? Sure, why not.”

Hawke stared at him for a while, swaying. A distracted smile was covering his lips. “Well,” he said after a bit, clearing his throat, “we’ve got work to do. They don’t build statues for people who just stand around.”

“There is also a statue involved, of course,” Fenris said dryly.

“Of course.”

* * *

 

To Fenris’s surprise, Hawke did intend to do some good for the city. He wandered the streets, Fenris on his heels, performing small acts of kindness wherever he found the opportunity– leaving money to sleeping homeless people, complimenting strangers on their outfit choices.

“It’s like my sister always said,” he declared, taking a photo of a lost cat poster, “help starts with small things.” He grabbed a stray can from the ground, and threw it in the nearest bin with a flourish, hitting his target with an unexpected accuracy for someone so intoxicated. “Her grumpy twin was always incredibly jealous of my superior aiming skills.” He turned to Fenris. “Rightfully so, might I add.”

Fenris noted the past tense, obviously, but elected not to dig any further. He lit himself a cigarette, offering another one to Hawke.

They wandered like that for some time, and Hawke kept on chatting, quick and overly excited, rambling, like someone who couldn’t bear to listen to silence.

But he was getting restless. His steps were getting wider, his movements more strung up, and his fists kept clenching and unclenching at his sides. Tension was seeping in his words and tone, almost imperceptible but very much there. Fenris felt it in the shortness of his breath, and the way some words were getting lost in a choked throat.

"Would you like to take a break?" he offered, ushering Hawke towards a lit-up, but deserted riverbank.

"Sure." Hawke addressed Fenris a quick, forced smile, before walking down the stairs hurriedly. He lost his balance on the last step, and his ankle bent at a sharp angle.

"FUCK!" he shouted, and he thrust his closed fist against the nearby brick wall. He hissed between his teeth, swore again, and hit the wall a second time before Fenris could react.

"FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" He punctuated each word with another uncontained hit at the wall, and Fenris soon saw the dark glint of blood cover his knuckles and stain the wall. He grabbed Hawke's wrist before the next blow landed. 

Hawke tore himself free, looking at Fenris with wild eyes as he stumbled backwards. His back hit the opposing wall, and he slid along it, hitting the ground with a thump. He gathered his legs in front of him.

Fenris crouched, far enough to be out of reach but not so far that he wouldn't see his features in the dim lamppost light.

Hawke's entire body was shaking from his rapid breathing, which soon turned into a slower, shuddering pattern. His eyes were closed tight, his good hand wrapped around the damaged one. Squeezing. The dark blood was dripping between his fingers and onto his jeans, but he kept squeezing.

He was murmuring something, Fenris realised. A mantra.

"Not enough, not enough, not enough."

When he was certain the aggression had subsided, Fenris inched forward and laid a palm on his shoulder. Hawke jumped, as though he'd forgotten he wasn't alone.

"Let me see," he commanded.

With reluctance, Hawke uncurled his trembling fist. Fenris examined it as best he could in the dim light, as Hawke hid his face in the crook of his other elbow.

"You will not require stitches, but we do need to disinfect it and remove the gravels."

Hawke grunted weakly, body shuddering. Fenris knew very well the adrenaline drop that followed such impulsive action. He blew cold air on the damaged skin, hoping to relieve some of the immediate pain. Hawke sank further against his elbow, and his strained breathing turned into sobs.

Fenris pulled him closer, rubbing his back as he loosely held Hawke's bruising hand away from his strung up body.

Hawke appeared to calm down after a few minutes, and he slumped into Fenris, breathing pattern still struggling to find a proper rhythm.

Fenris knew he couldn't help much without knowing the root of his pain, but he also knew that outright asking would most likely result in Hawke rejecting the questions. So he just waited, still rubbing his back, he waited for Hawke to choose to speak.

It was another few minutes before he did. He lifted his face just enough to look at his bruised hand, turning it towards the light and back towards himself, as though he was admiring a piece of jewellery.

"She's dead."

"Who is?" Fenris asked in a low voice.

"My–" Hawke choked, and started again. "My mother."

"I'm sorry." Fenris himself had no memories of his mother, but he could somewhat picture what losing a caregiver might be like.

Hawke curled and uncurled his damaged fist once, watching as a few drops of blood dripped along his middle finger and onto the ground. "She was murdered."

Fenris sucked in a breath. He couldn't stop his next question. "And your siblings–"

"Dead. Accidents."

"Father?"

"War casualty."

"I'm sorry," Fenris repeated.

Hawke squeezed his fist shut, causing more blood to well up. Fenris grabbed his wrist a little tighter. A warning. He felt the tendons unclench as Hawke finally looked up at him.

His face was close, so close he was almost blurry. His eyes were webbed in red veins, their underside puffy. There was a tension in his brow, in the corners of his mouth, there was a strain to his expression.

"We need to get you cleaned up," Fenris mumbled.

"Right." Hawke rose up to his feet with Fenris's help. "I have... I have a first aid kit at home."

"How far?"

Hawke's brow furrowed as he tried to think. "Uhhh... Ten minutes?"

"Alright, let's go. Hold on to me," he added when it became apparent that Hawke would not be able to walk on his own.

* * *

 

The reality of Hawke's dizzy ten minutes estimation turned out to be closer to twenty, but they made it in the end. Hawke lived in a building in Hightown, actually not far from Fenris's own flat. They made their way to the third floor, Hawke's arm swung over his own shoulders.

After some time spent fumbling with the keys, they swayed through the darkened flat and into the bathroom, where Hawke ungraciously let himself fall on the toilet's closed lid. He vaguely pointed towards a cupboard, eyes almost closed.

Fenris extracted the first aid kit from it and knelt by Hawke's sides. He uncapped the bottle of disinfectant, the smell instantly making him dizzy. He pulled Hawke's hand over the tub, causing him to jolt in apparent sudden realisation of the current events. He scrambled to find something to talk about to distract himself, stuttering a few sounds, as Fenris waited for him to figure it out.

"How long have you lived here?" he finally asked.

"About fifteen hours, I'd say." Fenris poured the disinfectant generously over the broken skin, letting the half-dry blood wash away and drip into the tub.

Hawke let out a noise that was half sob, half laugh, his good hand trembling against his stomach. "What, you just moved here?"

Fenris grabbed a pair of tweezers, disinfected those as well, and began pulling out the small rocks that had lodged themselves in Hawke's skin. "Indeed."

Hawke hissed. "Welcome to Kirkwall."

“Charming city,” Fenris mumbled.

“It certainly got better since you arrived,” Hawke said with a wink, and then whimpered as another gravel was detached from his skin.

“So, what, do you just flirt your way out of situations?” Fenris hadn’t gone through all this trouble to be annoyed by something like this, but still, he couldn’t figure him out.

“I’d rather believe that I charm my way out of situations,” he said, addressing a winning smile to Fenris. “Besides, I do enjoy the look on your face when I compliment you.”

Fenris bowed his head further down, his cheeks heating up; and, on purpose or not, the removal of the last gravel was a lot less gentle than the previous ones. He put the tweezers aside and grabbed the disinfectant again.

“Why are you here, Fenris?”

“Pardon?” He poured the product over Hawke’s knuckles, who sucked in a breath and grabbed his own wrist tightly.

“Why are you helping me?” he rephrased between clenched teeth.

Fenris shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “You are not the first person to be in pain,” he simply said.

Hawke nodded. "Thank you." He didn't look quite as intoxicated any longer, though Fenris still predicted a bad hangover, and probably a compromised memory.

As he bandaged his hand in silence, he took the decision to stick around whether Hawke wanted it or not. He'd find blankets somewhere and sleep on the couch he'd seen on the way in, but there was no way he could leave him alone in that state.

Hawke had lost everyone, and Fenris knew all too well how heavy loneliness could weigh on a soul, no matter how strong.

He secured the bandage around Hawke's hand, put the first aid kit away, and instructed him to get into his sleeping clothes. He found the kitchen and filled a glass with fresh water from the tap.

He caught Hawke's arm as he was swaying towards his bedroom, in loose grey trousers and a red shirt. "You're strong," Hawke commented. "You're tiny, but you're strong."

Fenris snorted. He helped him into the bed, made him drink the glass of water, promised to bring back another one.

Hawke looked so much smaller, hiding under the covers of his bed, and it tugged at Fenris's heart. He smiled at him, inclining his head to the side. He was about to leave, when Hawke grabbed his wrist. "Stay," he mumbled.

"I will."

"Promise?" Hawke's eyes were exhausted, pleading.

"Promise."

Hawke finally let go, closing his eyes and resting his head against the pillows. He was smiling. "You are my fiercest warrior," he murmured.

* * *

"Drunk me is not very smart." Hawke scowled as he lifted the side of the bandage, looking at the yellow-purple bruises spreading across his knuckles. He let it fall back on the table, right next to his cup of coffee - no food for him this morning, or such had declared his body.

"I won't deny that." Fenris brought a forkfull of pancake to his mouth, and chewed it with the look of someone who'd been starving. He pointed the fork towards Hawke's hand. "You will have to change these bandages a few times a day, in the beginning. Make sure I removed all the gravels when you next do it. Disinfect thouroughly, obviously. Go to the ER if it starts smelling, you have to be wary of infections. And if it becomes– are you listening?"

Hawke had in fact lost focus a few sentences prior. He was staring at the bit of skin visible on Fenris's shoulder, where the too-big shirt had slipped. "Is that my shirt?"

Fenris grabbed the collar, pulling it back up in a sharp motion. "Evidently."

Hawke followed the movement with his eyes, enraptured despite himself. He smiled. "You should wear my shirts more often, they suit you."

Fenris, right on cue, blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. It was adorable, and Hawke was delighted. "Hey, I remember that!"

"What do you remember?"

"You get really cute and antsy when I compliment you."

Fenris scowled. "I am not cute."

"Apologies," Hawke said, but he was laughing. He got up, taking his guest's now empty plate, but he didn't miss Fenris's lips twitching upwards at the corner. He dropped the plate in the sink, deciding that doing the dishes with a sore and bandaged hand would be a problem for later.

He turned back towards Fenris, whose collar had slipped down once again. Hawke itched to push it back up, or maybe further down, but he doubted either would be considered very polite. So instead he just grabbed a kitchen towel laying there, to keep his hands busy. "Hey, look," he said, "thanks for yesterday. I couldn't– I couldn't have been alone."

"I know."

Hawke then took a deep breath, putting the kitchen towel down on the counter and then picking it up again, twisting it in his grip, looking down at it intently.

"Hey, Fenris, you..." He looked up at him. "Well. I'm gonna need time, evidently. Probably therapy, if I'm being honest."

Fenris said nothing, just inclined his head attentively.

"But, once I've found my footing, I'd like to– I'd like to see you again."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "What are you offering, a drink?"

Hawke grimaced. "Oh, Maker, no, never again." He twisted the towel again, bit his lip. "So what do you say?"

Fenris had one of those thin smiles he seemed occasionally unable to hold back. "Sure, how could I refuse a date with the Champion of Kirkwall?"

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat on [Tumblr](https://stormthedarkcity.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
